


Love and support and always be there

by Sophia_Prester



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Bob and Alicia need better friends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Married Life, mentions of domestic abuse, no actual abuse occurs or has occurred, no actual slurs appear in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25408105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Prester/pseuds/Sophia_Prester
Summary: Three days after the Falconers win the Stanley Cup and Jack kisses Bitty on the ice, reality ensues.
Relationships: Alicia Zimmermann/Bob Zimmermann
Comments: 23
Kudos: 118





	Love and support and always be there

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to [Aishuu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aishuu/pseuds/Aishuu) and [sweetsoutherncuisine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetsoutherncuisine/pseuds/sweetsoutherncuisine) for a swift beta reading and cheerleading! 
> 
> This fic was an exercise in trying to write a story in one day (not counting line edits the following day), and came from an idea I've had kicking around that many of Bob's old hockey buddies are probably not as progressive as one might wish. I don't name any RL players, but unfortunately there were a lot of possible candidates to choose from.

Alicia froze as she stepped in from the garden. She had a bouquet of parsley and thyme, one foot on the threshold, and one hand on the doorknob. Her shout of _did you leave any coffee for me_ didn’t have a chance to become anything more than a craving.

_Something’s wrong._

Her chest tightened and her heart hammered in her throat before she could put a reason to the wrongness. It was only through hard-learned habit that she was able to go still, to listen, to take deep, controlled breaths.

_Name five things you can hear_.

Bobby in the kitchen, footsteps so loud as he paced that she heard it all the way from the mudroom. A cabinet door slammed, rattling the dishes inside. A mug clanked down on the counter hard enough to make her wince. French, rapid-fire, barely a breath away from shouting, and so tangled up with rage it sounded foreign to her all over again. A growled _tabernac!_

Then, silence.

Alicia took one more measured breath before heading down the hall to the kitchen, not even bothering to take off her muddy garden clogs or put the herbs in water.

One might have assumed that being married to a man who was known to millions as ‘Bad Bob’ would mean being used to explosions of temper, or always wondering when that temper would inevitably be directed at _you_.

One would have been a fucking idiot.

Alicia’s own temper flared at the memory of rumors that went around after she’d been photographed with her left arm and leg all bruised up from a stunt gone wrong. At the memory of a friendship broken almost past repair because of someone else’s assumptions and condescension and thinking they knew _better_ than her and…

_We all said it was only a matter of time—well, you_ know _his reputation_ , a woman she’d once counted as a sister told a reporter even after Alicia had told her what had happened and they had both laughed about how doing your own stunts was overrated. _The important thing is that Alicia knows we’re_ here _for her and that we’ll stand by her side no matter what. We’re here to_ help _._

Alicia took the memory of that pitying, patronizing voice, put in a box, and put it firmly aside. She would be present for her husband.

She stopped short again in the kitchen door.

_Name four things you can see_ , an echo of her therapist’s voice told her, inanely.

Bobby’s mug on the marble counter, slammed down so harshly that coffee had splashed everywhere. The white of Bobby’s knuckles contrasting with the slump of his shoulders as he clutched the counter. His face, red and twisted into an expression she had only ever before seen when he was on the ice. The way he shook with fury…

Her hand went to her heart as if that had any hope of keeping it from breaking.

“Bobby?”

All his anger flowed away smoothly and swiftly as he straightened and turned to her, arms wide and eyes pleading.

She tossed the herbs in the direction of the sink and went to him. Her arms circled his waist and she rested her cheek against his chest and he nuzzled into the side of her neck, arms tight around her.

They stood like that for a while, and she listened to the pounding of his heart and felt the warmth of his breath in her hair and waited for the shaking to stop.

Just because Bobby was every bit as kind and gentle and thoughtful off the ice as he was fearsome on it, it didn’t mean he liked her to see him break down like this.

At least he had eventually learned how to let her _be_ there for him like this.

“Don’t tell me nothing’s wrong,” she said gently once he had calmed down. “Who was that on the phone? What happened?”

Bobby’s chest rose and feel with a deep sigh. He gently pushed her back—not away—hands resting on her shoulders. He stroked a thumb along her collarbone, more likely to soothe himself than her. His eyes were sad, but his jaw was still tight with anger.

“Matthieu,” he said. He sounded exhausted.

They knew a lot of Matthieus, but by not naming which one, Bobby made it clear who it was: Matthieu Leclerc.

Matthieu was Bob’s old liney from back in his days with the Habs and in Bantams long before that. He had been an elite player in his own right and was now a top hockey commentator for the CBC.

Alicia blinked in confusion. Matthieu and Louise were two of their dearest friends. They didn’t see each other as much as they liked now that that Leclercs had moved to Toronto, but when they did get together, it was always as if no time had passed at all. Matthieu was one of Jack’s favorite hockey uncles, and he had been the one to call in favors to set Jack up with the opportunity to coach Peewees after all the everything that happened seven years back.

_All the everything_ : That’s how Alicia still thought of those horrible months. She couldn’t imagine how she and Bobby would have gotten through them without their friends.

She rested her hand over his on her shoulder. “Bobby. Tell me what happened. What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

His gaze cut away for a moment and his jaw clenched. She waited.

“I think I lost a friend just now,” he said at last. “Or maybe I never had one, but all those years… _fuck_.” His voice broke.

Alicia guided him to the kitchen’s bay window and the cozy little couch they’d set up there for morning coffee and late night cocoa. She did not tell him it would be okay.

They sat there together, holding hands, but she did not ask him again what had happened. He would tell her when he was ready.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I called him,” he said at last. “I was surprised I hadn’t heard from him after Jack won the Cup. I mean… even if he wasn’t going to call to congratulate me, he’d at least want an interview, _non?_ He knows I would have given him an exclusive.”

Alicia nodded and wished she could make the hurt and confusion in his voice go away.

“Also, he’s not the only person I called while you were outside,” he went on reluctantly. He listed two other names, names that would be high on Alicia’s list of people to call with any kind of big news, good _or_ bad.

So many of Bobby’s old teammates and even a few rivals had called him over the past two days to congratulate him, he’d actually put his phone on silent to get a few minutes without interruption. Their publicist was _still_ trying to cull through all the requests for interviews.

“I told myself that they were probably just giving us space, _hein?_ They’ve lived through this kind of thing before,” he said, gesturing broadly as if indicating a teeming crowd of fans and reporters waiting just outside the kitchen.

He described the first call, which was little more than a glib _oh, I meant to call you earlier_ , followed by a perfunctory congratulations that never mentioned Jack or the Falconers, and then an excuse to get off the phone quickly.

“I thought it was a _little_ strange, but you know how he is. I thought ‘maybe I just caught him on a bad day,’ and his son _did_ get sent down from Aeros this year, so maybe it was a sore spot, eh?”

The second call wasn’t much better, starting with a wary _allô?_ and staying uncomfortably awkward throughout, ending with a vague and stilted suggestion of getting together when they were all in the same city at the same time—whenever that was.

Alicia’s hand tightened around his. She knew where this was going even before he said a word. Her own anger began to bubble up again.

“What did Matthieu say?”

Bobby’s expression shifted again. It wasn’t anger this time, but something closer to resolve. “He told me he was _sorry_ Jack was putting us through ‘all that’ again,” he said with a placidity that chilled her. “He wanted to know what he could do to _help_ , what he could do to _fix_ things for Jack. For us.”

Alicia heard the words, let them sink in. Then:

“I’m going to fucking murder him.”

That surprised a half-smile out of Bobby, but he remained as serious as sudden-death overtime. “He said ‘it’ll probably take more than a season of coaching Peewee hockey to put things right this time.’ And then he laughed, Ali. He _laughed_.”

Alicia’s face was so hot with rage the kitchen air felt icy cold by comparison. Murder would be too much of a mercy. “What the fuck else did he say, Bobby?”

He shook his head. “Not much, and nothing I will dignify by repeating.” He grinned, and she caught a glimpse of the part of him that reveled in the fights he got into on the ice. “He didn’t get much of a chance to say anything after that.”

“Good.”

The moment of smug satisfaction passed quickly, leaving them both exhausted and bereft.

“He and Louise were always so _good_ with Jack!” she said, bewildered. “They loved him like one of their own children. How can they…”

Bobby shook his head. “I don’t know, Ali. I don’t know. Matthieu even participated in a video for You Can Play.” He huffed something that was more a scoff than a laugh. “You think you know someone…”

Alicia let go of his hand. He looked up, startled, but she stood and crossed over to sit on his lap before he could ask her what was going on.

“We’ll figure this out, Bobby.” It was what she had said once they heard Jack was going to live but before they knew he was going be okay. Before they knew that _they_ were going to be okay.

“We will. What really hurts is that I think he genuinely thought he was _helping_.”

“Mmm.” Alicia thought about a woman who thirty years ago had been like a sister to her, who had also thought she was _helping_ when she said she would be more than willing to testify, to provide shelter, to…

She and Frankie had reconciled long ago, with Frankie apologizing and not offering excuses until Alicia was willing to hear the explanations and about what Frankie had done over the years to change and deal with her own shit. No, they weren’t ‘sisters’ again and never would be, and Alicia would always feel a surge of anger whenever she remembered why they had fallen out, but they had learned how to be friends again. Mostly.

Five Christmases ago, Frankie had sent her a delicate ceramic tea bowl, one that had been broken and then repaired with veins of golden enamel. Yes, it was beautiful, but there was no escaping the fact that it had been broken and that more than a few shards were missing past any hope of being found. You also couldn’t be sure you could trust it to hold tea the way it once had. But you could be sure that if it broke again, it would be for good.

Frankie had presented the bowl without comment, but it said more than even her most heartfelt apologies ever did.

“Maybe one day, Matthieu will get his head out of his ass.” She shrugged. “Maybe he won’t. One thing I _will_ tell you is that it’s possible to miss your friend very much while also wanting to tell him to go fellate a cactus.”

Bobby was so startled by his own laugh that it turned into a coughing fit. “ _Crisse_ … remind me _never_ to get on your bad side!”

“Smart man.” Alicia leaned forward, booping the tip of her nose against his before snuggling deeper into his side. “So, what now?”

He shrugged, jostling her slightly, so she pinched him in retaliation which led to him bouncing her on his leg a couple of times to make her laugh. “‘What now’ is that I agree to that ESPN interview and I will go on the record as saying that anyone— _anyone_ —who is enough of an idiot to think less of my son as a player or as a person because of his utterly delightful and charming boyfriend can go commit acts of depravity with a cactus.”

Alicia pulled back and narrowed her eyes at him, but couldn’t keep her lips from twitching into a smile. “‘Acts of depravity’… What kind of fucking locker room talk is that?”

“Anyone who is shocked by the kind of profanity used in a locker room has never spent any time with theater kids,” Bobby said, mock serious. Mock serious shifted to true serious so swiftly Alicia almost missed it. “Next season will be rough, won’t it? For both of them. Jack’s already got a target on his back for winning the Cup, but—”

Alicia rested a finger gently on his lips, not quite enough to silence him if he did need to speak, but enough to let him know she had already heard what he didn’t say.

“We’ll figure this out, Bobby,” she said once again, but this time she knew herself, her husband, and her son well enough to say what she hadn’t dared to say seven years ago almost to the day:

“We’ll be okay, Bobby. We will.”

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes on my thought process:
> 
> Just so you know, in my head canon, Alicia swears a LOT more than Bob. 
> 
> Alicia gardens; Bob cooks.
> 
> Alicia's incident with her friend is based on something that happened to a close friend of mine, when another friend took it upon herself to 'help' with some issues friend #1 and her husband were working through.


End file.
